I'll Keep You Warm
by Anna Lane
Summary: An alternate version (aka how I wanted it to go) of Elena's change S4E1. She wakes up in the morgue and Damon is there for her.


**A/N: This is how I wanted season 4 to start off with Elena's transformation. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about this season (love it!), but I wrote this in the summer and just now got around to transcribing it and tweaking it. So, there are no major season 4 spoilers. This was largely inspired by the promo pic of Elena laid out dead after season 3's finale. And also James Bond, a little bit. Tell me what you think. Happy New Year!**

Elena awoke with a gasp. The oxygen lingered in her lungs, useless. Without purpose. She felt a momentary panic at the unfamiliar feeling. The oxygen should have been pumped into her blood by the muscles in her heart so it could flow through the rest of her body. But her heart wasn't beating and her blood no longer flowed. She wasn't even sure how to move.

Finally she heard a noise and her body reacted before her mind had the chance to hinder her movements. She sat up and her head moved towards the sound. After an accident, her neck should be sore, her back should be hurt. But moving hadn't hurt. It hadn't felt like anything. Her legs moved off the metal cart and her body slipped off. The single white sheet covering her bare body fell to the floor. There it was again. That curious feeling of feeling nothing. She wouldn't even know she'd moved if she couldn't see it for herself.

The morgue attendant opened the swinging door in the silver and grey room. He had been the noise, his feet making noise as he walked down the hall. Closer to her. As he entered, he faltered. His mouth sputtered as he asked why, how…

Part of Elena wanted to assure him that she was just as confused. She was supposed to be dead, not empty. But that was only a very small part and she kept silent.

Mostly, Elena just felt extreme discomfort. Her insides shook and trembled, although she was stone still. A pain hit her deep in her stomach, deeper than cramps and far beyond hunger. Her eyes felt tight and inflamed. And her tongue, which had been in residence inside her mouth for many years, was deeply dismayed to feel the foreign lengthening of her canines. She frowned as she registered his reaction to her face. Horror. Join the club.

He took a step closer and Elena bared her teeth in alarm. The man stopped. She didn't fear him, she feared _for_ him. If he took a step closer, her body would react beyond her control. In a way she was suspended before the scene, aware of her body's need, but keeping control with distance. But if he took just one step closer, she would slam into him and rip his skin to shreds. Anything to get at that blood pumping beneath. Anger and jealousy made control so much harder. Why should she be lifeless while his heart pumped furiously? She was beginning to lose her empathy for this human. Pathetic, imperfect, fearful, inappreciative, stupid, inconsequential "human." She growled the word.

Just as her muscles began to make an involuntary leap forward—perhaps a little more voluntary than she should have liked—a man appeared in front of the first between Elena and her prey. He told the human to run and the human complied. Once the sputtering human had gone, the man turned around. He was before her in an instant. The man stood still, staring at her for just a minute. It could have been that she was naked. But his eyes never left her face.

"Elena," he breathed. Damon reached to touch her hair. Elena's face sank into his open palm. His touch was relief for the tearing pain inside.

Her blood was mercury and he was heat. Her blood expanded at his proximity until it filled the emptiness and made her feel light as a feather. Her entire body was suddenly so swollen and tender. She could _feel_ his touch. "Wh-why?"

He picked the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around her as she tried to speak and failed.

Her eyes were wide as her hand moved to his hair, dark and a mess. His eyes were blue and watery. He looked so beaten, but she'd never known until just now how perfect—no, how _right_—he was. She'd known his beauty before, but never this-this deepness. It hit her harder than the hunger.

He drew her in closer, his arms steel and warmth surrounding her. Somehow it didn't seem enough. Suddenly, she lost strength in her legs. She felt so weak. He held her up. It was okay that she couldn't stand, as long as he was here to hold her. The exhaustion was bone deep. "Why do I feel this way?" She whispered. She felt so many things. She closed her eyes against his chest, not sure they would ever open again.

"It was my blood, Elena." Damon's voice broke. "It was my blood, but I never wanted this for you. I am so sorry." He held her and Elena thought he might be crying. She kept still in his arms, not saying anything.

When he pulled away to look at her, she collapsed. Only his arms had kept her up. And it was only his arms that kept her from falling as he caught her. "Elena?" He sounded worried as he picked her up, an arm going behind her knees to carry her.

It was only the feel of his eyes on hers that coaxed hers open. He was so worried. Elena closed her eyes and her head fell against him. "It hurts." She said weakly.

"It will hurt until you-until you drink." Damon held her closer, as if he would force the liquid down her throat if she refused. Why not? He'd done it once before.

Elena said nothing. She felt too weak to speak. She felt too weak to even think. She couldn't say the words even if she were capable of thoughts.

"I'm going to get you out of here." He told her.

She felt the swinging doors of the morgue swoosh as they closed behind them.

Damon paused when he got to his car, probably wondering what to do with her. The sudden stop in movement made her eyes open slowly. He made up his mind quickly. He pulled open the driver's door and got it, her on his lap. He wouldn't let her go.

Her legs lingered on the passenger seat next to him. She wiggled her toes to see if she could. The tag was still on the big one, she noted absently.

Damon kept one arm around her and drove with the other.

The ride was a blur. She couldn't stop staring at her toe. That shouldn't be there. Damon was opening the car door when Elena said his name. "Damon," she faltered. He looked at her. "It shouldn't be there. It shouldn't-"

Damon followed her gaze to her foot. He seemed surprised to see the tag. Slowly, his hand moved down her leg, brushing her ankle and enclosing her foot in his hand. He gently removed the tag and clenched it in his fist.

He stepped out of the car and Elena realized he'd taken her to _his_ house. She didn't protest. Not when he carried her up the steps. Not when he opened the door and took her inside.

"Elena!" The new voice was worried and full of love. She soon saw that the face matched the voice.

"Stefan." Bone deep familiarity hit Elena in the chest. Her heart maybe beat again. Just once. She'd memorized this face, fell in love with it. She wondered, for a long moment, if that knee-weak, blood-pumping, head-singing feeling would return and she'd feel human again. It didn't. Being with him used to feel like clouds, light and airy. Now, only recognition.

He must have heard something different in her voice, because his worried look only intensified. He looked so strange, so wild. In fact, they both looked wild, out of control. They weren't ready for this, she realized. Was she ready? She'd thought about it so many times—there was always the chance this would happen—but she never knew what she'd do then. It was no different now.

"Did you get it?" Damon asked Stefan impatiently.

"I have the blood from the hospital." Stefan reassured. He looked at Elena. "Everyone's here." His eyes appeared to try and search hers deeply. She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder as he reached out to her. "Jeremy, Matt, Bonnie, Caroline, and Tyler. We're all here for you." His voice was warm and tender. Like he was speaking to someone newly born and freshly confused. But Elena was newly dead and all too aware of her current quandary. Stefan looked down when she didn't respond, his searching eyes unable to read her.

"She hasn't said anything yet." Damon informed Stefan.

His brother's eyes snapped up as if to say, 'would you really give her the choice?' Damon turned out to be just as inscrutable. Stefan was suddenly very scared. He could afford to give Elena the choice, because deep down he knew Damon never would. Stefan could be noble, because in the end Damon would never let her die. He trusted Damon to make the decision he couldn't afford to. Damon would never let her go. Stefan was suddenly not so sure. He made a move as if to take Elena, but Damon shifted away, almost imperceptibly. Stefan felt his anger rise.

"Damon?" Elena's small voice snapped them to attention. "I need to get out of this!" She writhed in his arms. All she wore was the morgue blanket and it itched around her. Unnecessary breaths came harsh and uneven. Her death dress. She couldn't be in it any longer! How many others had been on the cold metal slab? Did they reuse these blankets? "I need to be clean!" She squirmed so violently she almost pushed herself out of his arms. "Damon!" She cried out pleadingly as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Ssh, ssh, okay. It'll be okay," he said soothingly into her hair. He held her very tightly so she would not fall for all her movements.

"I need to be warm. I need to be clean!" Her face was wet with tears. She sobbed hysterically into him, shuddering violently in his arms. Her shaking was partially from her cries, but also because of the cold.

"We'll get you a warm shower, okay?" Elena calmed a little at his words. He was rocking her, she realized. Only slightly shifting his weight left to right. Suddenly, it did seem like it could all be okay. Elena nodded into his chest and he took that as confirmation. He led her up the stairs, leaving Stefan beneath, staring after them.

He set her on her feet in the master bathroom. She made no move to hold the itchy white sheet and it slipped to the floor. She didn't know it was possible, but she got colder. Her arms wrapped around her naked chest and she shivered.

Damon handed her a fresh bar of soap from a bowl on the counter. He moved past her to start the water. When he turned back to her she was facing him. She'd done it almost without thinking. He swallowed. His eyes never left her face as he took her shoulders. "Go get warm. I'll bring you some fresh clothes. And I'll burn that," he nodded to the blanket on the floor. He let go of her as if to leave, but hesitated. Suddenly, his arms wrapped around her in a quick hug. "I'm glad you're here," he whispered. Then he was gone.

The brief flush of warmth from his embrace fled Elena almost instantly. She staggered into the shower, desperate for the heat and sting of the water. She gasped when the drops washed over her, but it wasn't enough. She turned the dial until it was all the way red and burning hot.

The room steamed until she could hardly see her own body. And then the tears came, pouring from her eyes even harder than the water from the showerhead. She sank to the floor slowly, the bar of soap cradled uselessly in her palms. She drew her knees up and buried face as wracking sobs tore through her.

Being cold was the worst part. It reminded her of dying. It hadn't been so bad, really. It was peaceful. She had drawn in a lungful of water when the car crashed into the lake. Her whole body got heavy and she grew sleepy. The panic drifted away as the water caressed her. The panic was gone long before the cold. The cold stuck to her like a devoted friend—there till the end, till her last thought floated away on a dark blue current.

Elena shivered despite the spray assaulting her skin as she recalled her death. The cold would never leave her, she feared. It was _inside_ her, corrupting and paralyzing, freezing the air as she filled her lungs. The cold had her, and it would never let her go.

00000000

Damon and Stefan were arguing. _Again._

"You can't be serious!" Stefan shouted at his brother.

"I had someone choose for me, if you remember. I won't do that to her." Damon's face was set.

"You're talking about killing her!" Stefan was almost hysterical.

"I'm talking about letting her make her own decision. What are you planning on doing? Storming up there and _forcing_ blood down her throat? She's been through enough. She needs time to think."

Stefan looked at Damon with disgust. "How can you say you love her?"

"I'd like to ask you the same question, _brother_." Damon growled. "Who saved Matt first? Who let the coroners take her body? Do you know how freaked she was waking up like that?"

"How was I supposed to know she had your blood in her system? _No one told me!_"

Damon turned away in distaste. "I'm going to check on her."

"I thought you said she needed time?" Stefan called after him, cursing.

Damon knocked at the bathroom door. He could heat the shower still running. "Elena?" He called loudly. "It's been almost an hour; I think you're probably pretty clean." No answer. Worried, Damon eased open the door. He could hardly see her crouched, blurred form through all the steam and the glass door. He heard muffled noises from her like she was crying and he noticed her indistinct form was shaking. "Elena?"

He hurried into the room and opened the shower door. As the steam poured out he suddenly saw her more clearly. She was hugging her knees and rocking slightly. The water was pouring down harshly on her. Damon noticed the dial was turned all the way on hot and that her skin looked a raw red. He swore as he shut it off, pissed that the hot water hadn't run out ages ago like it usually did. Instead, Elena was rocking there with minor burns on all the places where the water had cascaded down onto her skin.

"Elena," Damon said desperately.

Her head rose slowly. "I'm so cold." Her voice was weak and unsteady. Tears poured down her pink face.

Damon was afraid to get a towel to dry her off, afraid it would tear her tender skin. So he picked her up gently, avoiding the angry red patches as best he could. He could care less if his clothes got wet.

"Damon, I'm cold!" She cried harder and clung to his shoulders.

"Sshh," he whispered and buried his face in her hair. "It'll be okay."

"You're-you're warm, Damon. Don't let me go!" Her nails dug into his neck and her face pressed against his chest hard.

"I won't. I promise." He sat on his bed, back against the headboard. She was in his lap, still silently weeping and shaking. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around her like steel bars until she was covered by his entire body. He drew a blanket over them. "I'll keep you warm." He kissed the top of her head and laid his check to rest there.

Slowly, her breathing evened out and the tears stopped flowing. Her tightened fingers released their death grip on his neck and collar and slowly smoothed their way to his hair.

Damon felt her fingers burn a trail across his skin. His scalp tingled when her hands drifted there. He let himself lean into her touch. She smoothed over his locks only to twist into them to cradle his head. She sighed, finally calm, and her restless fingers settled in his hair.

He didn't realize how tense he'd been—how terrified—until Elena started to relax in his arms. Then he let the fear-caused tension slowly ease from his body. He felt his own muscles start to relax against Elena. She was there. She was safe.

Their eyes closed and sleep claimed them.


End file.
